Category Archives: Piet Nieuwland

for all the light that was born by Piet Nieuwland

for all the light that was born in your eyes
this page opens

on it falls the anticyclonic day,
and a night sky of silky blues

on it falls the vision of a platinum moon,
its blazing stare swallowing paths of moving shadows

in the ocean upon which it swims,
waves of a tropical artery flower splashes of marlin

in the passage of these islands through their naming,
the language of fire sings from the ridges, the pa

crossing our voices,
a silicon bird surfs the magnetic fields of cool, still air,
tasting seeds of wind

from the silence of stars,
an armada of glass palaces fuse,
into a cathedral of whispering eyes

and the space we occupy fills,
with a rosary of vines


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Watch How The Slip Tips by Piet Nieuwland

watch how the slip tips itself over and flies headlong into a dive that wings into an arrow riding on the force of the throw and the magnetism that large objects emit, following the curve of vectors and wind resistance, the shaft vibrating through hillsides of toetoe torched with lightning, the satin plumes splinting the blue horizon with fire stippled bursts and shards, trapezoidal crystals and zags.

in my mind is a wave, a surging crest of intelligence breaking upon an open sandy beach on the western coast, it rolls up into the shallows and foams into a long line of surf, tearing open the pent up energy of a large ocean crossing, pulling a net through the deepest passage of currents and tidal floors, enveloping the wisdom of fish and seabirds that plunge through masquerades of reflections, the wave it bursts and throws out incandescent showers of sparks and glowing particles in an effervescent mirage under a dome of mirrors repeating themselves thru infinity by factors of prime numbers and combinations of polygons and floating orbs that drift slowly like bubbles, and coalesce


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what this spring by Piet Nieuwland

a stranger in familiar country

with the birth of sight her name was seeing

in turquoize grey glances lasting hours

and that seeing is ploughing,
the eyes unfurling, unfolding,
a peeling back

nga kahu over
kowhaitotarapuriri hillslopes,
long ridgelines silent
but for the green of air

and what spring will do
to this place
this spring
will do

life will do with itself
what living will do with us

in the forest
in the forest in the forest
in in the forest the forest
in the forest as mantra
in the mandala of crowns

in the shade and possibilities of leaves
phyllodes and pointing of needles

in the question
ocean is for forest,
forest is for ocean

and the answer that skies are, for both of them

the beach is a bay surrounded by islands, the islands are bays surrounded by beaches,
the beaches are on islands carried by cliffs, the cliffs hang from ridges sweating with forest,
the forest is a jungle of vines, the vines are seeds searching for light, the light is heavy
with moisture, the water is a cloud, the cloud is a purple eye singing to drumbeats and cicada,
spiders bouncing and a silver fish spinning a weave in the throat of a tern

a moon of magnolias
flower from your eyes

your heart of baskets laden
with nectars of mango papaya and pawpaw

the morning is a cardinal honeyeater
undressing the petals of a coral tree
your crimson lips blushing

silver flower of dusk
black rose of sunset


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Alive, una tarde by Piet Nieuwland

Alive, una tarde, one afternoon

Amongst the bread, the wine,
and my soul in lemon yellow hours

Looking at her immediately
In a deep red dazzle

Shankara, giver of joy
Wandering in the ocean of deathless life

Echoing funereal rites
In fecundate stanzas, octaves of romancing
Cascades with drumsticks, rivers of guitars and gongs

Tropical torrents of devas igniting

Dining together, they spent their life for a moment

In a diamond sutra threading
A night woven of bodies and naked hearts

On the axilla of a fragile oar


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